


Learning by Doing

by paradiamond



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Triggers for self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 02:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradiamond/pseuds/paradiamond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incident at the bar, Glenn returns to the Greene farm terrified that he will freeze again. His ill-advised solution, coupled with his evolving relationship with Daryl, presents challenges. </p><p>The dead may be a threat but life is taking its toll on Glenn too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning by Doing

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a prompt over at the wonderful TWD kink meme (: 
> 
> http://twd-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/2508.html?thread=1544396 
> 
> Major triggers for self harm. I can't stress this enough.

Looking back, Glenn can easily see how he got here, sitting on the floor of Daryl’s tent, receiving the most intense dressing down he’d ever had since he was fourteen and his mom caught him coming back in through the kitchen window at three in the morning reeking of booze. He can trace the direct line between freezing at the shootout at the bar, to amateur first aid, to the cuts, to Carol and promises, to burns and minor excusable injuries, to here. At the time though, leading up to this point, he hadn't seen it.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Glenn looks up from where he’d been absently studying the vinyl of the tent floor. He was dizzy.

“What?” He asks, disoriented. Daryl gets that pinched look on his face that usually means that he’s about to hit something. Glenn registers this on a faraway, clinical sort of level. He shrugs.

Daryl seems to almost deflate and scrubs a hand over his face. “Christ, kid.”

Glenn agrees.

***

In the chaos surrounding the attempted suicide of the younger Greene girl, three weeks ago, Glenn had somehow ended up being conscripted by a sobbing Maggie into assisting Hershel fix her up. Lori was having a crisis, Maggie obviously couldn’t do it, Daryl certainly wasn’t going to, Rick and Shane still weren’t back from dealing with Randal, so it had fallen to Glenn. He knew basically nothing about first aid, but, as it turns out, the assistant just needs to be able to follow simple instructions like ‘hold this’ and ‘use this lighter to sterilize this’ or ‘stop doing that’. So he was good.

The girl, Beth, was really quiet, just sort of staring at her arm as Hershel stitched it up in a nice, even line. Glenn supposed that facing your own mortality will do that to a person. He shifted and cleared his throat, not totally sure if talking would be appropriate or not, but Hershel beat him too it.

“It looks like it should heal nicely. Barely leave a scar even, if you take care of it.”

Glenn glanced over at him. “How do you know?”

Hershel looked at him, and Glenn felt like an idiot, even though he wasn’t sure why. He’d been fairly mixed up since the bar, anyway.

Hershel cut the thread, provoking a small jump from the silent girl, and picked up a bandage. “Well, it was done pretty shallowly, and I got to it right away. If she just keeps it clean, and doesn’t fuss with the stitches, it should be fine. No harm done, really.” Glenn feels like he’s saying this more for her sake than for him, but he nods anyway and watches him wrap her up with sure, even motions.

A few days later, sitting on the rim of the tub in the far less used downstairs bathroom, pocket knife in one hand, towel in the other, he would remember the look on the girls face when they were done. She’d looked better, somehow. Cleansed.

He stared down at his arm. He didn’t know a lot about cutting, or whatever. He’d only been vaguely aware of it’s existence among the eyeliner wearing, tortured soul demographic. It was never something he had ever really considered. But that was Before.

Since the bar, he’d gone from scared, to angry, to just numb. Contemplative. He’d spent all day in the barn, doing nothing, just sitting through the haze that seemed to be following him around lately.

He was afraid that he’d freeze again, that people would die because he couldn’t get it together. Rick, Carl, Dale, Daryl... people who depended on him.

In the barn he decided that the main thing that makes people freeze up is fear of pain. Of horrible, excruciating death. He’d listened to the screams of the dying man that Hershel had shot, the one that had shot at him, and felt fear. He’d never really had to deal with pain before, besides breaking his arm playing basketball and a few other injuries. Daryl had tons of scars, Glenn had seen them. Rick and Shane had both been cops, they’d been through fights. Hell, Rick had been shot. Glenn needed to know how to deal with pain. So he would learn. Get desensitized.

He lowered the knife. _No harm done._

***

 _How many times do you have to repeat an action until it’s a habit?_ Glenn wondered, absently. He thought it was something like thirty. Or was it sixty? He glanced up from where he was putting pressure on his newest cut to his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him seemed steady, and he didn't shake at all, like Glenn sometimes did. He always felt more centered, more in control after every time. Like he could deal with anything.

There was a knock on the door. “Glenn? You drowning in there?”

_T-Dog._ Glenn quickly finished, zipping up the small first aid case and stuffed it in the back of the cabinet, unobtrusive between an old broken toothbrush holder and the wall.

“Coming!” He called out, checking his pants for any blood spots as he moved towards the door. He had quickly figured out that arm cuts were really difficult to hide in the middle of summer in Georgia. Thighs were better; he could still wear shorts, and people don’t exactly grab your thighs all that often, like they sometimes do your upper arms. It had taken some bullshitting about rubbing up against a prickly bush to dissuade Carol from pushing the questioning of the neat line of band aids she felt under his sleeve when she had done it. He’s not totally sure that she had believed him, but she’d let it drop, and Glenn had learned to be more careful.

He opened the door, and T-Dog looked up from where he was leaning against the opposite wall. “Sorry about that.” He said, and T-Dog grinned at him. 

“No problem man, we all got the call of the wild, and I know you and Maggie have been on the outs.” It took Glenn a second to catch up with what he was saying, but then he did so he shot him a sheepish grin and ducked his head, letting him think what he wanted. T-Dog rolled his eyes and slapped his shoulder, moving passed him into the bathroom.

Glenn walked back towards the front of the house, making a sudden sharp left to the kitchen and therefore the back exit when he saw Maggie sitting on the front porch. Things had been weird since the incident with Beth, and even before that. Hell, things had been weird since the dead decided to get up.

He stripped off his shirt as he entered his tent, throwing it into the growing pile of gross and smelling laundry. He tried to avoid looking at that corner for the most part, though Carol had been threatening to come over and do overhaul. Since the barn, Carol had become kind of crazy about things being clean. It was all she seemed to do, speaking as little as possible but devoting all her energy to making sure that everything she could affect was as perfect as possible. As far as he knew, the only place she hadn’t been to was Daryl’s. Though Glenn supposed she had an excuse for a bit of neurotic behavior. All things considered, he really wasn’t one to judge.

Glenn sighed and pulled out his own mini first aid kit from the bottom of his sleeping bag and unzipped it, checking its contents. He didn’t usually use it, generally preferring the bathroom where there was a lock on the door instead of a zipper on a tent flap but sometimes it couldn’t be helped, especially as often as he was doing it at this point. You could only spend so much time in a bathroom on any given day before people started wondering why.

Band-aids, anti-bacterial ointment, two razor blades, and a needle and thread in case he ever messed up. He had a lighter too, for sterilization. He doubted he would need it, but he would rather be prepared and not end up needing to go to Hershel for help, who would inevitably tell the rest of the group.

Satisfied, he rezipped and replaced it, mentally calculating how long it would be until he needed to restock. Luckily, he didn’t have to ask anyone, being the one that did the majority of the supply runs. It made maintaining a secret easier. In the beginning, he had been using some of Hershel’s supplies, until it became apparent that the frequency that he was using them up was going to be noticed. Also, he thinks, frowning to himself, he felt weird about the stealing so he replaced everything he had taken.

“Hey kid! You in there?” Glenn looked up to see Daryl in the process of unzipping the tent and sticking his head inside. 

Glenn glared at him. “Ever heard of knocking? I could have been naked or something.” And he would have gotten quite the sight, something like thirty cuts in varying stages of healing on his legs. Thank god he had stopped cutting on his arms. Daryl rolled his eyes.

“Whatever it’s not my fault you act like a damn girl. Come on we’re going huntin’.” He withdrew and walked off, not bothering to wait for a response.

Glenn glared after him halfheartedly, privately excited to be getting more hunting practice, and grabbed a shirt out of the corner pile. He hesitated, then pulled it over his head, figuring that Daryl of all people had no right to complain about smell.

He stepped out of the tent, stretching a bit and glancing around for Daryl. As he moved, he felt the tug of the band aids against his skin. Later, out there in the field, he knew he would feel them again, maybe when he was crouching down, looking at a print at Daryl’s instruction or while climbing up over a rock, and the sensation would remind him to stay grounded, to focus.

After the first two or three times, Glenn had told himself that he would stop the next day. And the day after that. The risk of getting caught was too great, and he had done what he’d intended to do. He didn’t bother so much now that the edge of risk had worn off and it had become apparent that he could sustain this for as long as he wanted. The benefits far outweighed the hassle of hiding it in his opinion.

He smiled to himself, swung his pack up onto his shoulder and headed over to where Daryl was waiting.

They got back to the farm just around dusk, the lights and faint sounds coming from the house indicating dinner was in progress. He figured he probably didn’t have time to go make a cut, but he was fairly relaxed after the hunt. He usually was after any extended time with Daryl, the man just had a calm presence, so he figured it was no problem to wait. 

The hunt had gone well. Glenn didn’t actually shoot anything, but he’d gotten close and Daryl had killed like five squirrels so they were ok for a few days. The last thing Glenn wanted was for his hunting training to take food out of the mouths of the group. He waved to Dale, perched on top of the RV, plate in hand, shotgun in lap. “Dinner duty?” 

Dale tipped his hat back. “Gotta be someone.” 

Glenn gestured to the house. “Want anything?” Dale shook his head. “Just remember you’re up next for night shift.” Glenn gave him a thumbs up and jogged to catch up with Daryl, who had gone on without him. 

Dinner ran longer than expected, and by the time it ended, Glenn had started to feel that itch up his spine that indicated it was past time to relieve some tension. His fingers twitched and he glanced over at the clock on the wall. At this rate he would barely have time to deal with business and get to watch without arousing suspicion. And he really didn’t want people to come looking for him. So it would have to be a mall one, and it would have to be in his tent.

He excused himself, grateful to be free of clean up duty since he had 'hunted', and therefore technically provided. He deftly avoided Maggie’s gaze and slipped out the back, heading towards his tent. 

He stopped short. The lamp was on inside, and he could see a pile of clothes, most likely the contents of the heinous corner pile, sitting right outside the flap on a sheet. _Carol_ , he thought. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, but she was still in there, he could see her, and she wasn’t making a move to leave. It was clear that she was waiting for him to get back. He thought back and realized that she had left dinner early, something about not wanting to loose the last of the light. 

"Stupid, stupid." Glenn mutters, glaring ahead. This was why Daryl always told him to pay attention to his surroundings.

He walked forward and pulled back the tent flap. Carol was standing off to the side, leaning on the card table Glenn had scrounged from town for what little stuff he dragged around with him. She was holding his kit, the sleeping bag unzipped and folded up on the floor, clearly in an aborted attempt to tidy. 

Glenn briefly considered making a run for it, back into the house, away from her, right into the downstairs bathroom where he could deal with his galloping heart and the rushing in his ears. But he couldn't, not without destroying everything.

He made himself take the two steps into the tent and let the flap fall. He opened his mouth to say something, he didn’t know what, but Carol lifted her chin and looked straight at him and the words died in his throat. She glanced over him, clearly taking inventory, and Glenn felt his face flush. He was suddenly, violently angry. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.

“What.” He said through his teeth. She started, and jerked her eyes back up to his face.

“Can I see?” Her voice was flat. 

Glenn glared at her, his mind turning around and around for a way out of this. He was pretty sure there wasn’t one. “See what?” She gave him a look, her eyes narrowing. 

“Don’t. Just- don’t.” Her eyes started to fill up and she swiped the back of her hand across them, glaring at him.

Glenn felt a stab of guilt and dropped his arms. “Aw damn, Carol, I-” 

“ _Don’t_ , Glenn. Just- let me say what I need to say alright?” It was already the most amount of words Glenn had heard from her in a long time. He nodded. 

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes. “You’re hurting yourself.” She opened then, gave him a searching look. Glenn didn’t deny it. She blinked, continued. 

“I’m honestly not sure how to deal with this, except to let you know that I’m here, and I’m worried about you.” Glenn dropped his eyes. “I’m not going to ask you why, or when, or anything like that, but I am going to ask you what you think is going to happen to- to the others if something happens to you.” Her voice started to get thick again. “We can’t loose anyone else Glenn, ok, we just _can’t_.”

He looked back up, his face burning. She was leaning back against the table, he eyes red rimmed, clutching the kit so hard her knuckles were white. “You’re not-” He paused, unable to really process what he wanted to say. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not...I’m not in danger, ok? I’m really careful. I just-” He trailed off. 

She waited, watching his face. He rubbed a hand over it. “It just helps me, you know?” 

She gave a small smile. “Because it’s like all the pain and confusion can be regulated down to just that, and you can feel it, and control it. It's your body to control. And afterwards, watching them heal up, it’s like you’re healing too, right?” 

He stared at her. “Did-” She shook her head. 

“Not me.” 

“I-” He stopped, closed his eyes, opened them again. “Just, please don’t tell the others.” 

She took a deep breath and put a hand over her face. The silence stretched. Glenn could feel his heart pounding in his hands, and he clenched them hard to dig his nails into his palms. It wasn't enough.

Eventually, Carol sighed and straightened. “You goin’ to bed?” She asked, sounding resigned.

Glenn looked up at her, confused. “Uh, no, I mean since I have...watch.” 

She ran a hand over her head and then settled it on her hip. “Well give me that shirt anyway, you reek and I’m doing the washing first thing tomorrow.” He hesitated, checking her face, but it seemed like the worst of it was done. He stripped the shirt off and handed it to her. 

Carol made a face a it but took it, taking a deep breath. She looked at him. Glenn was painfully aware of her taking stock of his body, drawing conclusions as to where the cuts must be. 

She frowned, but left it. “I’m sure you have more but I'm gonna keep this ok?” She shook the med kit a bit to indicate. There was no need, Glenn knew what she meant. He nodded. 

She started to go, Glenn stopped her when she reached the tent flap. “Carol?” She turned to look at him. 

“I promise not to, anymore.”

Her eyes softened. “Just promise to try.” 

He nodded. 

To be fair, he had every intention of following through with that at the time. 

***

The rushing in his ears didn’t stop though. Everywhere he went, Glenn felt vague, like he was drowning, like he was under some kind of oppressive, physical pressure. He moved through the next three days like a walker, merely tending to his needs, unable to achieve a true focus on anything- until he could, and then it was too sharp, too bright, too much. 

It was worse at night, with nothing to distract him. Sometimes during the day, when he was calm, talking to Daryl or Rick or Dale (but not Carol, who he still hadn’t quite looked in the face since the other night) he could deal with it. But not at night. 

He felt he was doing ok though, all things considered. He just didn’t use the downstairs bathroom.

But he didn’t get rid of the kit stuffed in the back of the cabinet either. 

Glenn grit his teeth and dealt with the creeping panic and twitches, figuring that he couldn’t exactly keep it up forever anyway. Until it cost him one too many shots with the crossbow, one too many moments of focus, and Daryl had given him a weird look and taken it back, saying that they were done for the day.

He went back to the house, silently fuming and fighting with himself. Determination warring with what he knew would be an instant solution to his problem. _But not_ , he reminded himself, for what felt the the hundredth time that day, _a permanent one._

At dinner that night, he intentionally sat right next to Carol, not really making a point to talk or not talk to her, just being in her presence. As a reminder. She seemed pleased, or at least her new, harder version of pleased, and kept trying to get him to eat extra food, pushing baskets of bread in his direction and offering him seconds of everything. 

He successfully avoided shutting himself in the bathroom immediately following the meal, opting instead to volunteer for dish duty. 

Dale waved him down. “You’ve already done enough today kid with the hunting, sit down I’ll do it.” 

Glenn laughed, not at all bitterly. “Seriously I wasn’t any help today, just ask Daryl. I've got it.” He left before Dale could say anything else, avoiding Daryl’s eyes on the way out. 

When had Daryl started eating in the house anyway? Glenn hadn’t noticed him before. Must have been either today or yesterday. 

His dish partner turned out to be Maggie, which was awkward, but he put on a friendly face and just focused on getting through it, and tried not to think about how everything he did at that point seemed to be an exercise in ‘getting through it’. At least he was getting better at it. 

Maggie seemed to have the same idea. They finished in silence, and Maggie turned to go, raising her hand to brush her hair back. Glenn caught it, and Maggie jerked, startled. “Glenn?” 

He stared down at it. It was covered in welts and slightly scarred. “What happened?”

She blinked, clearly confused. “Uh. Life on a farm, dumbass. People get hurt all the time.”

“Oh, right.” The kitchen door opened, and Glenn looked up. It was Daryl, who gave them a weird look but didn’t comment. Glenn dropped Maggie’s hand, feeling irrationally like he was ten and his mom had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. 

“Hey.” He called out, awkwardly.

Daryl glared. “You comin' hunting tomorrow?” Glenn blinked, surprised Daryl wanted him to after the disaster that had been today's performance.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about earlier, I was distracted.” He makes a vague gesture.

Daryl gives Maggie a look Glenn doesn't understand the meaning of. “Hm. Well don’t be next time.” He started to head towards the door. “Dawn, kid. Don’t be late.” 

Glenn nodded, even though Daryl couldn’t see. He turned back to Maggie, who was giving him a weird look. “What?” He tried not to sound defensive, but she was weirding him out. 

She gave him a sad smile and stuck a hand in a pocket. “Nothin’. See you later.” She walked towards the door.

Glenn watched her go, but then had a thought. “Maggie.” She turned, one eyebrow raised.

“Need any help around on the farm? I’d hate to see you hurt, trying to do all that stuff by yourself” It was a peace offering and she seemed to understand. She gave him a small smile and rolled her eyes.

“Thanks, that’d be nice.” 

Later, out hunting in the woods, about a week and half after The Carol Incident as Glenn was calling it in his head, Glenn would raise his hand to scratch his head and Daryl would grab it, flipping it palm up. 

“The hell happened to you? You get mauled by a cat or somethin'?” Glenn pulled it back, surprised Daryl would even voluntarily touch him. 

“I’m just helping out on the farm, you know how it is.” Daryl snorted and called him an idiot. 

Glenn had said the same to Carol yesterday. He had helped take down the old chicken wire pen, and people got cuts. _Seriously Carol, I’m fine._ The memory left an off taste in his mouth, but Glenn ignored it, keeping up the strangely easy conversation with Daryl as they walked back to camp, weighted down by three squirrels and two rabbits, one of which Glenn had shot himself. 

He gripped the supply bag harder. His hands stung, especially after handling a crossbow for the past four hours. 

It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. 

He hadn’t made more than one cut per day since he started working at being bad at farm work, letting a rope slip through his fingers and chafe his hands, not being overly careful when he dealt with sharp things, intentionally not wearing socks with his boots, things like that. Just the little things. Maggie seemed to find it all very amusing and would roll her eyes and call him a city boy. He let her, enjoying their new, easier and less complicated relationship. It's not like he could take his pants off to have sex with now anyway, even if she did offer. It was fine, Glenn would rather have this anyway.

It was a system he was working to perfect. Three days ago, while working on the RV with Dale, he had subtly pressed his inner arm onto the hot engine for a good three minutes. Sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night and just punched himself as hard as he could in the leg until he could go back to sleep. It wasn’t exactly ideal, and he knew that, but Glenn figured that as long as the cuts were under control, which they clearly were, he sometimes went two days without even thinking about it, the rest would be fine. He had it under control. 

Until he really didn’t. 

***

There were a lot of things about Hershel’s farm that Glenn really liked. The lack of regular showers was not one of them, however. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t totally understand why the showers were reserved for Hershel and his family (and Lori, Carol, and until she’d been banished, Andrea). It made sense, it was just that the water in the river was really, really cold. 

It was also outside, which meant being on the constant lookout for walkers, and any other threats that might come wandering by. Speaking of which...

Glenn jumped up and out of the water, swinging around to grab his gun, pointing it at the source of the noise. But it was only Daryl. Glenn huffed out a small laugh and lowered the weapon. 

“Shit, Daryl, don’t do that, I thought you were a walker or a bear or something.” 

He expected Daryl to make some snide comment about confusing his steps with a _bear_ but he didn’t respond at all, just kept staring at Glenn, not at his face, at his...lower area. 

Glenn flushed and thought, ‘ _what the hell is he staring at?_ ’, followed by, ‘ _Oh, shit._ ’ 

He put down the gun as carefully as he was able at the moment and made a wild grab for his pants. 

Unfortunately Daryl was in a better position and stepped on them, effectively preventing Glenn from retrieving them. Glenn whipped his head up to yell, his face burning, but was cut off by Daryl grabbing his shoulders and forcing him upright, still staring.

They stayed like that for an indeterminable amount of time. Glenn focused on breathing and not having a panic attack. _Of all the people in the group._

He knew how he looked, and he looked _bad_ , all mottled bruises from about mid-thigh up and two rows of perfectly straight, orderly sets of cuts running parallel to each other on each leg. Any thoughts Glenn had of effectively explaining them away died in his throat as Daryl looked back up at him, his eyes dark, his mouth set in a hard line. He tried anyway.

“I-” Daryl squeezed his shoulder and Glenn broke off with a gasp.

“Shut up.” He let go and walked away, shooting him one more dark look. 

Glenn stared after him, wide eyed, until he’d disappeared from view. He didn’t know what to do. After about a minute he stooped and picked his pants up. He slipped them on, ignoring the fact that they were muddy from being stepped on. 

He sat down on a rock, his mind reeling. Should he go and try to talk to Daryl? Should he just leave it? 

Would he tell the others? 

Glenn didn’t think so, but he wasn’t sure. He frowned and punched the rock (hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break anything) and glared in the direction Daryl had gone. 

It was worse than when Carol found out. With her, at least Glenn knew where he stood, knew how to predict and respond to her reaction. With Daryl though... 

He growled and stood up. Found his shirt. His hand throbbed as he pulled it over his head, so he flexed it again for good measure, focusing on the burn of it. It helped, a bit. 

He started back, his eyes fixed straight ahead. If he stayed out for too long the others might come looking for him. Carol might get worried and say something, a half-implication to Rick, a passing concern about his well-being that wasn’t really in passing. He had to be careful all the time, had to make sure he didn't mess it up.

He glared at the ground. 

The thing was, he _hadn’t_ messed up, not like with Carol and the kit, and he’d still been caught out. Daryl didn’t come looking for him while he was washing up. He never had. No one did, so how could Glenn have prevented this? 

The ground had no answers for him. He kicked it. 

***

Four hours later, Glenn was lying in his tent, staring at the nylon ceiling and deliberately keeping his mind as blank as possible. He had the mother of all headaches. 

The crunch of gravel followed by the soft thump of footsteps on grass alerted him to the approach of another person. Glenn closed his eyes, and willed them to move on, to keep going past his tent. 

Predictably, that was not what happened. 

Less predictably, the face that appeared through the tent flap did not belong to a concerned Carol Peleteir. 

Daryl regarded him silently for a moment before glancing off to the side. “You weren’t at dinner.”

Glenn stared up at him, waiting for the second half of the thought. Generally, Daryl didn't talk to people just for the sake of conversation. Eventually, when nothing continued to happen, he just said, “Yeah, I know.” 

Daryl glared at him. “Carol was real worried. She tol- asked me to bring you this.” He held up a covered plate. Glenn stared at it through a haze of confusion. It was true he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to sit at the table with Daryl and Carol and play normal. So he was grateful for the thought, but he was having a hard time buying Daryl Dixon _bringing him dinner_.

He caught up with himself and sort of jerked to a sitting position. His head swam. He knew he should eat. Blood loss and lack of food don’t mix well, that’s why they gave you cookies at the blood drive booths. He cracked a smile and Daryl gave him a weird look, but didn’t hand him the plate. 

He glanced away and then back. “Come with me and you can have it.” It sounded more like a threat than an offer. 

Glenn frowned. “I have watch next shift.” 

Daryl gave him a look. “No, you don’t.”

He left.

Glenn stared after him, not moving. He wondered, absently, how long it would take before he came back to drag him out by the hair. 

Probably not very long. 

Resigned to his fate, Glenn stood and followed him out. He quickly located Daryl, about twenty feet to Glenn’s left, walking away from the house. He followed. It took Glenn a minute to realize they were headed for Daryl’s camp. 

Daryl turned his head. “Hurry up chink!” Glenn glared. So it was back to the racial slurs? They had mostly stopped when the hunting lessons had started. But, fine. If that was how he wanted to play it Glenn wasn’t about to stop him. 

They trudged along the grass, or rather, Glenn trudged while Daryl marched. He was having trouble concentrating. And walking in a straight line. He grit his teeth and kept going. At least now he knew how much was too much. 

They reached Daryl’s campsite just as Glenn was beginning to think that he’d have to ask Daryl to stop. He gave Glenn and critical look and gestured to the tent. Glenn went in without argument, moving to the back and crossing his arms. Daryl followed him in and handed him the plate, which Glenn set to the side. 

“You gon’ eat or are you starving yourself now too?” 

Glenn flushed. “I’m not-” He stopped and took a deep breath. “What do you want.”

Daryl settled himself against the wall of the tent, crossing his arms. Glenn eyed him. It was getting a bit unnerving, the lack of yelling and throwing things. Sure he looked pissed, but he wasn’t doing much about it. 

“I wanna know what the hell is going on with you.” His eyes flickered down to his jean-clad legs. 

Glenn fought the urge to say ‘nothing’. He licked his dry lips. “I've got it under control.” Daryl opened his mouth, looking murderous, but Glenn pressed on.

“It’s none of your business anyway. What do you care?”

Daryl’s face turned _red_. He uncrossed his arms, clenching his hands into fists by his sides. 

“Fuck you it’s none of my business! The hell is wrong with you?” Glenn blinked, surprised. He had expected him to close off, like he usually did when someone implied that he might care about the group, or even be a part of it. 

Daryl got right up in his face, poking him in the chest. “You don’t get to act like a little kid anymore Glenn. Grow the fuck up and take some goddamn care of yourself!” Glenn glowered. 

“Did Carol tell you? Is that why you came down to the river?”

Daryl was silent for all of two seconds. “Carol knows?! You told Carol, and you didn’t-” He cut himself off, turning suddenly to face away from him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. 

Glenn threw up his arms, ignoring the way the sudden motion made his head pound. “I didn’t tell her, she found out.” 

Daryl snorted. “Clearly you have this totally under control.”

Glenn flushed. “You know what, Fuck you. I can deal with my own problems, I don’t need you following me aroun-” Daryl growled and pushed him, looking like he’d rather it had been a punch. It wasn’t hard, but Glenn stumbled anyway, totally caught off balance. 

Daryl gave him a sharp look. “You ok?” 

Glenn glared. “I’m fine!” 

Then his legs gave out.

He hit the ground hard, but at least he caught himself. The floor was tilting at an alarming angle, and Glenn felt an instant of pure panic. After an indeterminable period of time in which he focused on not sliding off the edge of the world he felt Daryl haul him up by the armpits and set him on the sleeping bag, his legs sticking out in front of himself like a little kid’s. There were black spots in front of his eyes.

Daryl crouched down in front of him, looking him over. He raised a hand and moved it towards Glenn’s face. Glenn jerked away, but Daryl rolled his eyes and followed him. “Hold still.” 

Glenn glared but did as he was told. Daryl pressed his hand to his forehead, then checked his pulse. He sat back on his heels and glared. “How much blood do y’think you lost today?” 

He closed his eyes. Daryl smacked him on the arm. _"Glenn."_ He sounded pissed. 

Glenn sighed and opened them, his anger totally drained. “I don’t-” He frowned. The silence stretched. 

Eventually, he heard Daryl sigh and looked up at him. He was staring off to the side, his eyebrows furrowed. Glenn had the sudden urge to apologize, but didn’t. He was pretty sure it would have gotten him punched anyway. 

Daryl turned and looked at him. “Let me see.”

Glenn blinked. “What?” 

“I don’ trust you not to lie to me about how bad it is. Let me see.” 

Glenn didn’t respond, just stared up at him, his face slowly getting hot. Daryl rolled his eyes. “Oh for the love of-” He crouched down and grabbed Glenn’s jeans by the cuffs, giving them a hard tug. Glenn frantically grabbed at the waistband. 

Daryl looked up, his expression dark. “Glenn...” 

Glenn shook his head, trying to clear it. “It’s not-” He stopped. Recollected. “It’s not on my legs.” Daryl glanced over at his bare and undamaged arms, then reached for Glenn’s shirt. Glenn let him. 

He looked to the side when it was off, out the flap of the tent, then down at the floor, so that he wouldn’t have to look at Daryl’s face. He couldn't not hear his sharp intake of breath when Daryl pulled off the bandages though. He intentionally let his attention wander as Daryl poked and prodded at his side. It stung, but he had new standards of pain now. Which, he reflected, had kind of been the original intention. He wondered who was doing watch in his place and why they thought they were doing it. Maybe it was Carol.

“-you even listening to me?” He looked up from where he’d been absently studying the vinyl of the tent floor. He was dizzy.

“What?” Glenn asked, confused. Daryl got that pinched look on his face that usually meant that he was about to hit something. Glenn registered this on a faraway, clinical sort of level. He shrugged.

Daryl seemed to almost deflate. He scrubbed hand over his face. “Christ, kid.”

Glenn blinked and glanced down at himself. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it.”

Daryl snorted. “Yeah I can tell.” He sounded more bitter than amused. 

Along Glenn’s left side were three deep gashes. Too deep, Glenn had realized almost immediately after he had made them, sitting in Hershel’s tub with his legs dangling off the side. It had taken almost an hour to stop the bleeding, and if most of the group hadn’t been aware that he was supposed to be hunting with Daryl at the time, someone might have gone looking for him. He’d cleaned the tub and bandaged himself up as best he could and dragged his ass back to his tent. He hadn’t gone to dinner. 

He studied them, thoughtfully. “I think I might need stitches.” 

“Let’s just hope you don’t need a transfusion.” Daryl said to himself, looking so serious that Glenn laughed. It wasn’t funny, but he couldn’t stop. Daryl gave him a severely unimpressed look. 

“Ok Korea, you stay here. I’ll be back.” Glenn shrugged. He could do that. 

He closed his eyes. 

When he opened them, Carol was there. Glenn blinked, startled. “Uh.” She laid a hand on his forehead and made a soft ‘shh’ sound. Glenn glanced around. He was still in Daryl’s tent. 

Carol handed him something. Glenn squinted at it. “Vodka?”

She frowned. “Daryl said you should have some, he’s getting Hershel.” He closed his eyes, and fought down the rising panic. _They would have found out eventually._

“Do we have to tell Rick?” 

Carol gave him a soft look. “Well, I’m not sure how Daryl and Hershel will feel, but I’m comfortable as long as Hershel knows and Daryl’s looking out for you.”

Glenn felt his face heat. “He's not-” He didn’t know how to finish.

Carol smoothed down his hair. He noticed that his hat was missing. He glanced up at her. “Carol?” She paused in her movements and looked back at him. “I’m sorry. I did try I just-” 

She sighed and studied him for a moment before answering. “If you can’t stop for yourself then you can’t be expected to stop for someone else. Don’t worry. It’ll come.” He looked away. 

She nudged the bottle. “Better drink that. It’ll dull the pain.”

He almost laughed out loud.

Hershel and Daryl showed up about ten minutes later, Hershel looking like he just been woken up, and Glenn felt bad. He took a critical look at Glenn and sighed, shrugging out of his jacket. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Glenn glanced over at Daryl and then quickly away. “Uh...”

“He was dizzy and pale. When I pushed him he lost his balance and fell, and then looked like he was gonna be sick. He hasn’t eaten since...” He looked at Glenn, who colored and cleared his throat. 

“Yesterday.” 

Hershel, who had knelt down to inspect Glenn’s side, hummed and pulled a needle and thread out of his pocket, along with a lighter. “Well I don’t think there will be any permanent damage from either the cuts or the blood loss, but Glenn, you need to get your head on straight.” He gave him a stern look. Glenn met his eyes, and nodded. 

The entire process of getting the stitches put in only took about a half an hour. When he finished, Hershel poured a generous helping of the vodka over them and wrapped him up tightly. He straightened. “That should do it. Keep an eye on it for infection, but it should do fine, as long as you don’t sustain any major injuries any time soon. Your body needs to make up the lost blood. Drink water, keep warm, rest, and eat and you should do fine.” 

He left Glenn with instructions to come see him tomorrow and the advice that he not be moved that night. Daryl acknowledged him with a nod and accepted the extra blankets from Carol. Glenn watched this all happening, feeling vague and sort of like a piece of furniture. He closed his eyes for a second, but was immediately shaken awake.

He cracked open one eye and glared up a Daryl, who was looking not at all repentant. 

“Hershel said you should eat and drink before you went to sleep for the night.”

Glenn struggled to sit up, getting to his elbows and deciding it was good enough. “He also said that I should rest right?” 

Daryl rolled his eyes. “Stop complaining. You were out for like an hour. Here.” He put the plate from dinner in his hands. A few seconds later one of those fork/knife/spoon utensil things you find at wilderness adventure shops dropped into his lap. Glenn smiled slightly. Those had been a nice find. 

“Just don’t eat too fast, and stop if you get sick.” 

He glanced up at Daryl, who had busied himself with dismantling the crossbow, a can of something resting on one knee. Glenn turned his attention to the food, which was kind of gross after having sat out for so long. He frowned down at it. 

Daryl snorted. “Eat it, it’s your own damn fault if it ‘aint so good anymore, it’s still food.” 

He was right, so Glenn did it. He chewed slowly, staring off to the side. He paused. 

“Are you sure it’s cool if I stay here tonight?”

Daryl looked up from the bow, his hands covered in the stuff from the can. He stared at Glenn for a long time. 

“Yeah.” 

***

Later, after the stitches had come out and the cuts had healed, Glenn would sit on a cinder block on a hill overlooking the farm, helping Daryl fletch new arrows for the crossbow. 

Daryl would occasionally lean over to check his work, sometimes nodding, sometimes taking the stick away and tossing it to the side. Glenn just focused on whatever he was doing at the time, thinking about nothing in particular, trying to match Daryl’s even strokes with the knife. 

He heard a rustling, and raised his eyes, ready to act if it was a threat.

It was Carol. She smiled at them, and unzipped their now shared tent to retrieve the dirty clothes. She was still meticulous about cleaning, but it was more like she had taken it on as her role for the group, rather than use it as a way to fake control over her life. 

She bustled out, a loose bundle of clothes gathered up in her arms. She paused next to them, cocking her hip for balance. “Rick wants you two to come down for the meeting tonight.”

Daryl looked up. “What meeting?”

She shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips. “I don’t know. Personally I think he’s just trying to make sure you guys don’t run away together, all alone up here.”

Daryl snorted, shooting Glenn an amused look mixed heavily with annoyance. Glenn smiled at Carol. “Thanks, we’ll be there. And if you want you can tell Rick that we’re fine, thanks.” 

Carol gave him a look. “Sure thing.” She gave him a soft smile and started down the hill. Glenn turned back to Daryl, who was looking at him. 

His lips twitched. “What?” Daryl shook his head, going back to the arrows. 

Glenn did the same, glancing over at Carol’s retreating figure. The thing with Rick cracked him up, though he could kind of see why he might think that. Since the first night Glenn had shared Daryl’s tent had hadn’t really stopped unless he had R.V. duty, and then Daryl usually came down with him. On the outside it must look strange, he mused, pausing to consider his arrow. 

Daryl stood. “Alright, you done?” Glenn held it up. Daryl took it and rotated it around, testing it’s balance Glenn guessed though he didn’t really know. Whatever it was, the arrow passed inspection, and Daryl stuck it in with the rest of them. 

They headed off into the forest, Daryl slinging his crossbow over his shoulder. Glenn didn’t really _need_ to be going per se, but Daryl had never told him to stop, so he didn’t. They moved into the trees with even, measured steps, already on the look out for walkers, animals, other people. One time they had stumbled upon a treasure trove of mushrooms that Daryl had declared fine for consumption. They hadn’t died, so Glenn figured he had probably been right. 

Glenn caught Daryl staring at him when they got to the stream. He went and sat down on the same bounder he’d sat on before, months ago, and watched him root around, looking for droppings and tracks. 

Eventually, he straightened and pointed to the left. Glenn got up to follow, trailing along behind. He had always been, and continued to be, horrible at tracking. Daryl had long given up trying to rectify that, moving him on to more productive areas of study, like gutting and cleaning kills. 

They ended up in a clearing loosely ringed by trees. Glenn looked around. There didn’t seem to anything of interest to them.

He started to turn to ask if he was missing something obvious, when he felt Daryl come up behind him, quiet as anything, and wind his arms around Glenn’s waist. He laughed. “Not hunting then?”

“We aint gonna find anything today.” Glenn didn’t ask him how he knew that, just pressed back, feeling hard muscle and the scratch of poorly maintained stubble on his neck. Daryl leaned forward and bit him, not hard enough to break skin, but potentially hard enough to leave a bruise. Glenn sucked in a breath and turned around, putting a hand an Daryl’s chest and pushing. 

He went down easy, even though he clearly could have resisted if he'd wanted. He dragged Glenn down on top of him, smirking and flicking his cap off. Daryl tugged him forward by the collar of his shirt so they were chest to chest and kissed him, sweeping his tongue across Glenn’s closed lips and running his hands up Glenn’s sides, stroking three thin lines on his left side. 

Glenn groaned, opening his mouth. Daryl took advantage of the opportunity, grabbing him by the neck and pushing his tongue in. They moved against each other until Daryl slid his hand down to Glenn’s ass and shifted him forward. Glenn broke off with a gasp, and Daryl attacked his neck. 

Glenn ran his hands up Daryl’s tanned and uneven skin, the scarring there not unlike Glenn’s own. He imagined they must look like a wild pair, like two messed up idiots trying to make it through a world that had always been viscous. 

He shifted up on Daryl’s lap, eliciting a low moan from the other man, and set about stripping them. Daryl laid back, seeming to have decided to be of no help at all. Glenn bit him on the thigh for it, and Daryl jerked, sending him a death glare that wasn't quite effective in the given circumstances. 

“Careful with that shit.”

Glenn rolled his eyes. “Lift your hips so I can get your pants off.”

They end up flipped, with Glenn pressed into the grass, Daryl bearing down on him. He ran a hand up Glenn’s thigh, feeling the mix of barely perceptible textural differences in scars and skin, raised lines from early attempts, and a few band-aids, remnants of more recent bad days that were getting less and less frequent. He hitched his leg up around his hip and ground down, pressing one hand into Glenn’s shoulder, holding him there. Glenn whined and moved his hips, desperately trying to generate friction that Daryl was happy to assist in. 

They just press against each other until they find release, moaning into each other’s mouths and necks to try to keep from attracting anything unwanted. 

They rolled away from each other, panting, and in Glenn’s case, grinning. He craned his neck to look up at Daryl, who rolled his eyes at him and stuck his hands behind his head, his mouth turned up slightly in the corners. 

Glenn thought they must look a lot like the world. Mismatched and covered in scars. Fumbling around in the woods, trying to think that they’re learning from experience. 

He sighed and settled into the grass, glancing over at Daryl who had his eyes closed and his face turned towards the sun. Glenn felt a powerful swell of...something and he rolled over to sit up. 

“I’ve got watch if you want to take a nap, the others won’t be expecting us back for a while.” 

Daryl opened his eyes and squinted over at him in the sun. He nodded and visibly relaxed, his breathing going even and steady after a few seconds.

"Another day." 

Glenn murmured, and adjusted himself so that he was facing out of the sun, settling in to watch over the sleeping man.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, hope you enjoyed (: I just wanted to say that this probably isn’t a very realistic view of self harm, especially at the end. I don’t really have that much experience with it, but I did the best I could. Also, and probably more importantly, I only did minimal research into the signs and symptoms of blood loss, and even less into the treatments. PLEASE. Do not use this as an example of what to do if this ever goes down in your life. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I think it’s basically right, but still. Just don’t.
> 
> Also, someone recently mentioned to me that if you or someone you know has issues with self harm, you should tell that person to hold an ice cube in their hand for as long as they can stand. Apparently it doesn't fix anything long term, but it helps.


End file.
